Through My Eyes DVD

Thursday, November 15, 2012

When I was around 10, through a weird series of
circumstances involving a very unusual fall, doctors discovered that there was
something amiss with my muscles.In
order to narrow down what it was they did a test that involved sticking needles
deep into my muscle tissue, moving them around, and listening to the sounds the
tissue made as it tore.

Sounds painful, right?…it was.

Now, the test didn’t really yield any results, I was
borderline abnormal, so they basically told me I have a minor muscle disorder
that somewhat limits the amount of physical activity I can engage in… but that’s
it really.

When I was 20, my mother talked me into having the test done
again, just to see what was happening.(My mother tends to always see the worst case scenario, and had somehow
convinced herself that the doctors had told her I had a degenerative disorder,
which frightened me a little because up until then, no one had said anything
like that to me at all.)So, I went in
for the test again.This time, though, I
knew what I was in for… I knew that they would be jabbing needles deep into my
calf muscles and purposely tearing my muscle tissue.I spent the days leading up to it trying very
hard not to think about it, but… well, that’s like trying not to think about
... oh, I don't know... ice cream.See... you’re thinking about
ice cream now, aren’t you?It doesn’t
work.

So when the day of the test came, I went in and the doctors
could tell I was nervous and they asked me why, so I told them… They assured me
that it wouldn’t be that bad, I had been a little kid when I got the test the
first time, so my memory of the pain was probably worse than it actually was,
and besides, this was 10 years later, the needles would be smaller, the test
would be shorter… it would be better.They promised.

So I tried to relax as they dug the needles into my muscles,
took some deep breaths, thought calm thoughts… and then the needles began to
move and it was… horrible.Worse than I
remembered it being the first time.I
lay there, on the bed, trying not to cry, and somehow feeling both the pain I
was actually feeling, and the pain I had felt as a little girl getting this
test.

You’d think that would be it, right?I got the results, they were the same as
before so why on earth would I ever go through that again?

Well, once again it was my mother, and once again it was her
weird tendency to always see the worst possible outcome.She had been with me for both of these tests
and had listened as the doctors explained the results, and yet once again,
about 10 years later, she was absolutely convinced that the doctors believed I
had something that would land me in a wheelchair at some point.In fact, this time she had the names of various
disorders that she believed the doctors had been hinting at.The fact that the second round of testing had
occurred when I was legally an adult meant that no doctor should have said
anything to my mother without me being there to hear it… but if you have read
anything about my mother here (or have any personal knowledge of her) you can
probably already guess what I’m about to say… it has happened to me on numerous
occasions that my mother has somehow gotten access to information she shouldn’t
have.Doctors have given my mom my
medical records (this has happened more than once since I have been an adult),
banks have given my mom my financial information, and lawyers have discussed
the details of our meetings with her… I don’t know how she does it, she just
somehow convinces people to tell her things that they aren’t supposed to about
me.So… her absolute certainty about my
medical situation after a while began to get to me.Had the doctors told her something that they
hadn’t told me?After a few years of
badgering I agreed to get the test again.

The problem was, of course, that I now had been through it
twice and so I knew exactly how painful it was going to be, so once again I tried
very hard not to think about it and once again I was completely
unsuccessful.The doctors once again
tried to calm me down, but this time… I couldn’t stop myself from crying out in
pain every time the needles moved.It
was so bad that the doctor actually refused to complete the test, saying he
couldn’t continue torturing me for something that was basically a diagnostic test
for a condition that wasn’t really all that bad and that there was no cure for
so, yeah… that was the end of that.

Now, the medical part of this is not at all the point of why
I am writing this down, but in case you are curious, my mother was wrong.The third doctor took the time to go over all
my medical records with me and yeah, it’s exactly what the first doctors said,
a minor muscle disorder that limits me somewhat.That’s all.It won’t put me in a wheelchair, it’s not degenerative, it might be
hereditary so if I ever have kids, I should probably have a biopsy… that’s it.

So, why did I write all that out?Well, I’ve just been thinking about the
nature of pain, both physical and emotional pain. Something happened recently
that hurt me. Badly. Something I had entirely
anticipated, it was in no way a shock, and it was not a new experience, but the
intensity of the pain I felt did shock me.I had known it was coming, but I
had not expected to be completely knocked on my ass by it.I’m somewhat recovered from, but I have
started wondering if maybe the level of pain I felt was worsened by the fact
that I knew it was coming, and that I knew what it was going to feel like.

And well, that has also gotten me thinking about pleasure,
and how that seems to work in the exact opposite way.The most wonderful experiences are almost
always surprises.The first time I
tasted Earl Grey Crème Brulee, my first glimpse of a canal in Venice,
the first time my little sister said my name… the explosion of joy in those new
experiences, can it be felt again?Pleasure often seems to actually diminish the more an experience is
repeated.

Or… well, this is what I’m curious about… is it just
me?Is there something in me that
magnifies pain and diminishes pleasure?

Monday, November 12, 2012

But I'm doing it now. Writing things out often helps me process my thoughts, which was kind of why I started this blog in the first place, so I think I just needed to get my thoughts out of my head, but well, I'm not so sure they needed to be out on the internet so... sorry.